It was during a walk to the mailbox that the flash of color caught the eye. A bed of croci had suddenly blossomed, signaling that the dark days of winter — seemingly holding on forever — were, indeed, giving way to spring.
It was just before Easter that they appeared, and just days before the furlough that would thrust me forward to another phase in life — retirement.
Not that there will be “retirement” — there are plenty of unfinished projects that will continue — and a “furlough” means that there is the possibility of being rehired. Given the state of the economy in the time of the coronavirus, and the struggle that newspapers had been going through prior to the arrival of the pandemic, that possibility is remote, at best. It is likely that Good Friday marked the last day of working for others.
Thus, Easter Sunday, symbolizing the renewal of life, signaled a new phase of life for me — and a day to look back before moving forward.
Fifty years have passed since I held my first job with a newspaper: an after-school job as an apprentice printer at the local weekly newspaper. No matter that the job mostly entailed melting lead and casting pigs for the Linotype machines — it was the waning of the age of “hot type” — or sweeping the floors. It was a foot in the door.
The motivation that brought me to the Bristol Enterprise was the desire to print a book of poetry. A few years later, a college professor would inform me, “Obviously, you’re not a poet.” That put-down by A.B. Paulson was balanced by his statement about my prose compositions, “We’re in the presence of an unusual mind.” Perhaps I was wrong to take that as a compliment.
The year I took the job at The Enterprise was also the year of the creation of The Lead Balloon, a school newspaper with rotating editors each day of the week. “Irreverent” was the best word for that newspaper, and to this day I’m surprised we were allowed to operate it for the few years it was in existence. It was a constant struggle to fend off censorship from school administrators, but it was a light-hearted conflict. The Vice-Principal, Archie Auger, walked a fine line, half-joking and half-threatening us for some of the material that was overtly critical of high school discipline and politics. Archie remained a friend for the next 50 years, until his death earlier this year.
Also, a little more than 50 years ago, in the fall of 1969, an English teacher at the school gave everyone the assignment of keeping a journal. It was a practice I maintained for more than a decade, tracing the early phases of life, through college and beyond, before turning to electronic methods of recording thoughts. I expect to be reviewing those earlier writings as I now move on. It is always interesting to trace the progression from then to now, and then to think about now and the future.
Just as nature always provides something amazing whenever one sets foot into the fields and forests, reflections on the past can provide amazing insights into who one is, where the path to today was direct and where that path diverted to reveal unexpected things. Keeping one’s eyes open with each new season may lead directly forward, or toward something new and unexpected.